No. He shook his head and clenched his hands, oblivious to the maelstrom swirling around him. Not on my watch.
I was sure now that the dairy was as good a place to look as any other. Besides, we didn’t have much time. I looked around for Mack—he was standing just a few feet to my left on the other side of the garden fence. I cupped my hands and hollered as loud as I could, but it was no use. I waved my arms frantically and miraculously, despite all the other stuff moving around out there, he noticed me. I motioned toward the dairy and he nodded.
We set off, bent nearly in half against the wind, eyes squinted almost shut. It was the dairy or nothing. I felt an urgency unlike any I’d felt before. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew something had changed, and I had a horrible feeling I knew what it meant.
It had grown still. Very, very still.
George spilled out the back door behind Dewey just as Hugh and something huge (a monster?)—whoops, that was Agent MacSomebody-or-Other—walked past the corner of the inn. They were heading for the outbuildings. George had a feeling he knew which one. At least he hoped so. It was the only one that made sense.
Without something to argue about to slow them down, he and George had made good time barreling up the basement stairs. He turned to watch Sherman, Leo, and Dodge, who took a little more time. Leo paused to re-light his pipe, while Sherman and Dodge detoured through the dining room to abscond with a few goodies before the mission—wouldn’t want to die without cookies in their pockets—but soon the three of them crowded both Dewey and George off the back porch and down to the wet grass. They all looked around.
“Wind stopped blowing, must be all over with,” George said. Nods and high-fives all around.
“This is gonna be great,” Dewey said, peeling the paper from a cupcake Sherman had handed to him. “Just great.”
Now if Joe and Rudy had done their jobs, Senator Gilbert Austin was out of the picture, and they were on their way to the church basement to complete their part of the job.
That left just the two agents. George hoped they’d taken the bait. His hint in the basement a few minutes earlier, casually, but loudly dropped when he and Dewey thought the two agents could hear him, was the last piece of the plan. “Used to play in a cave down by the river when I was jest a kid. West of that big mansion up there. Got there by runnin’ through the back yard of the church. Still have candles and matches jest inside the entrance,” he’d said, a little louder than necessary. “Even stuck ’em in a tin can to keep ’em dry. Once in a while I go there jest to git away from the little woman. Ya know what I mean? A man’s gotta have a place to call his own.
If they were lucky, one of the two men he and George overheard by the church earlier was one of the two agents downstairs. If they were right, and he heard the hints George dropped, they might just get their man after all.
Jonathan Sterling was grief-stricken. Just when he’d finally found happiness again, he was once more on the precipice of mind-numbing grief. He stumbled, more from choking fear than from the slippery earth beneath his feet or the churning winds that battered him relentlessly. Frantically, he called Tanner’s name, his voice thickened by the tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t believe the situation Tanner was now in, alone, frightened, maybe already hurt. Or worse. Jonathan shook his head violently; he couldn’t let that thought settle into his mind. His little boy would be fine, no matter what happened. He would be fine. He had to be.
“God,” he said aloud, “please save my little boy. Please, Lord.”
It surprised him how easily he uttered the prayer. He hadn’t spoken to God in over three years. He couldn’t help wondering if the Lord would ignore his plea as easily as he’d ignored Him over the years.
He hoped not.
I staggered the last few feet to the dairy with a mix of hope and agony. Either I found them crouched inside and Mack and I could do whatever possible to protect them, or we were back to square one. There was no time, of course, to regroup, re-calculate, or revise our search. It was all or nothing. There were no second chances.
I reached the door about four seconds before Mack did—long enough to utter a prayer and flip the latch upward. Before I could pull the door open, though, Mack reached over my shoulder and yanked. The wooden-slatted door creaked on its 200-year-old hinges, bounced against the side of the building and made a slow return. Mack’s bulk kept it from closing and I practically fell into its dark interior in my haste. Please, Lord, have someone be in here.
There was. Something big and hairy. Something definitely not the President of the United States. Or Tanner, for that matter.
Something that reminded me a lot of a camel.
Sophie didn’t seem to care that I’d stumbled into the dairy, fallen across her back, and was yelping at the top of my lungs. Thinking back on it, I guess that’s what she’s accustomed to here in Road’s End. Mack added his considerable weight to the pile a second or two after I fell into the building. The door swung shut, and we were in total darkness.
Before I had time to take a breath, a beam of light seared my eyeballs. I cringed and threw my hand over my eyes. “Hey, put that light out!” I felt badly for a brief moment. Could I be dead? What if I was in Heaven and my eyes hadn’t adjusted to the glory of God’s Presence? Hollering “Hey, put that light out!” didn’t seem like a good way to start eternity.
Thankfully, I was wrong. Again. Sigh. But I rallied when I realized that unless Sophie had learned how to use a flashlight, someone else—someone human—was in here with us. And then I heard that precious little voice.
“Hi, Gwampa!”
Climbing down from a camel’s back while tossing a giant from your own is not easy to do, but I managed. I grabbed Tanner and held him tight. “Thank You, Lord,” I said. “Thank You, thank You.” I leaned back. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? Why on earth did you run out of the house? Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?”
“He’s fine, Hugh.”
It was Stuart Thomas Rogers. Thank You again, Lord.
“Pewter, too, Gwampa.”
“That’s good, Tanner. That’s real good.”
Mack plowed over me. “Mr. President? Are you okay?”
STR had the flashlight by then and held it above our heads. “Yes, Mack, I’m fine. Thanks for asking and thanks for coming to get us. What’s it looking like out there?”
I hugged Tanner to me again and remembered we were in the middle of a situation that would probably result in our deaths. Over Tanner’s little form, I looked at the president and shook my head. “Not good,” I mouthed.
He grimaced and looked away. “Is everyone else safe?”
I nodded. “In the basement.”
“Good,” he said. “I’m glad of that, at least.” He looked down at Tanner, handed him the flashlight to play with, then glanced back up at me and said, “Anything we can do?”
The tunnel. “As a matter of fact, if we can get Sophie out of here, there might be,” I said.
“So, that’s her name. Sophie. I like that. Sophie’s been good to us,” he said.
I knew there wasn’t much time; there wasn’t any time. But we had to try.
“Mack, help me get Sophie out of here, and don’t ask what she’s doing here in the first place. When this is all over, I’ll either answer all your questions or it won’t matter.” I motioned that STR and Tanner, now clutching Pewter in his arms, should stand back in the corner to give Sophie as much room as possible to stand, then nudged her with my foot. “Up, Sophie,” I said in my best Camel-talk. Amazingly, she rose immediately. “Hate to do this to you, girl,” I said, “but you’re going to have to go outdoors, at least for a while.”
Mack cautiously opened the door a crack. Still silent out there. Weird. Just plain weird. I grabbed the rope wrapped around Sophie’s neck and snout in a halter fashion and tugged. She followed obligingly. Sherman would have killed me if he’d known what I was doing, but I had no choice. Leave the camel in the dairy and ri
sk the president’s life, not to mention Tanner’s, Mack’s, and mine, or remove the camel and get us inside the tunnel. Sorry, Sophie.
Mack opened the door all the way, and Sophie and I stepped out. Unfortunately, so did Pewter.
Followed closely by Tanner.
The next few seconds were the longest of my life. Seems like I say that a lot. Time slowed until I imagined I could count the minutes between my heartbeats. First the cat slipped past me. Then I heard Tanner’s plaintive cry, “Pewter!” and a flash of Power Ranger pajamas raced by. I grabbed for him, but he slipped past me. I dropped the rope and ran after him, but the slick grass and wet leaves were my undoing; I slipped, went to my knees, and before I could raise myself upward, Tanner was in the arms of Agent “Old Eagle Eye” Reynolds.
I looked up to find STR standing beside me, fear etched into his face until he saw who had his great-nephew. His shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh, thank goodness, Reynolds. Your timing is perfect.”
And then we heard the train.
Chapter 44
I’ve never been in the middle of a tornado before, and I pray I never will again. If I thought the sudden silence was eerie, hearing that train blasting toward us when I knew there were no railroad tracks within thirty miles of Road’s End, was as chilling an experience as I’ve ever had. And that includes being tossed around in that blizzard last winter.
I knew this was it. I lunged for Tanner, ripped him from Reynolds, and turned to dash back to the dairy. “Follow me!”
Mack had a death grip on STR and immediately turned to follow. I lost track of the agent, but I heard STR holler, “Reynolds, grab that cat!”
We’d have made it inside the dairy if not for Sophie standing in front of it. She looked remarkably relaxed considering she was about to die; chewing her cud, gazing around, channeling Joe Cool. I leaned into her and tried to push her out of the way. The only thing that did was put me flat on my back.
It was upon us and there was nothing I could do. I pulled Tanner down beside me, rolled over and threw myself on top of him. Praying, I hugged him close. Dear Lord, be with us. Preserve this little boy. Send an army of angels to surround us. Please, God. Please.
I don’t know the moment it happened, but gradually I became aware that the noise of an approaching train had risen in pitch. Within seconds it was almost a squeal; an edgy, grating cacophony of howls and wailing. Frightened animals around town? Perhaps, but frankly, there weren’t enough to account for that level of noise—noise that was rising in volume and ... and anger? It sounded like an explosive expression of fury, of pure, unbridled rage. Wild, violent, intensifying. Frightened out of my mind, heart pounding in my throat, I opened one eye and peered upward over my right shoulder.
As long as I live, I’ll never erase that scene from my mind. I knew the funnel, now directly over us and encompassing a good share of the neighborhood, if not the entire town, would soon chew everything around us into kindling. The sinister blackness, an utter lack of light, the unimaginable power and ferocity of the storm all covered me like a leaden shroud and pressed me further into poor Tanner. I felt a vacuum and wondered if we’d all be swept into the screaming, twirling vortex like slips of hay caught up in a summer dust devil dancing across a fallow field. It was a horror of indescribable depth, and I prepared to die. I wasn’t afraid. I knew I’d be with my Savior an instant after the storm took my life, but I felt regret that so many others would also die that night. Lord, deliver us from this storm. Keep us safe.
Instead of utter destruction, though, I felt a lightening of the air around me, a slight decrease in the wind velocity and strength of the rain pelting us. No longer did heavy air press me down or suck the very breath from my lungs. I took a chance and peered upward.
I watched, stupefied, as the funnel cloud slowed, lifted, then dissipated. I looked at the sodden ground and up at the inn, the dairy, the trees in my yard. It was all there. Wet, beaten, thrashed to within an inch of their very existence, yes. But destroyed? No. The Inn at Road’s End, the church, the town, from what I could see of it, all stood. Thank You, Lord, for Your everlasting mercy and goodness.
A stillness now filled the air, interrupted only by the rain gradually diminishing to a pitter patter, and what sounded, oddly enough, like the distressed squeal of a pig.
Chapter 45
It took probably a full minute before anyone moved. Finally, Tanner squirmed beneath me. “Gwampa, you’re squashing me.”
I rolled over onto my back and lay in the wet grass, reveling in the I’m still alive discomfort of wet clothes and mud and grit everywhere else. Beside me, Mack and STR sat up, both with bewildered looks on their faces. Sophie still stood over us, chewing her cud.
Mack spoke first. “Is it over?” His voice was about an octave higher than normal. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is it over?”
“I think so,” I said. “Everyone okay? Tanner? You doing okay, buddy? Mr. President? How about you, Mack?”
Tanner tugged at my sleeve. “Gwampa. Gwampa.”
“Yes, Tanner? What’s up, my man?”
“It’s not Mr. Pwesident, Gwampa. It’s Uncle Pwesident.”
I grabbed that little boy and hugged him so hard I’m surprised I didn’t break a rib. “So it is, Tanner. So it is.”
It was time to call it a day. I gave STR a hand-up and we headed for the back door—after all, we had some loved ones to find.
Mack took the lead, followed by STR, and then me with Tanner in my arms, when the first of two gunshots splintered the hard-won peace and quiet of the night.
Back on the ground. Tanner beneath me and STR under Mack.
Darn it. Would this day never end?
Senator Gilbert Austin fumed. Even with the flashlight those two brutes handed him at the last moment, the inky blackness threatened to swallow him whole. Where was he? And why was he here in this damp, fusty, no doubt rat and snake infested dungeon? Didn’t they know they were dealing with the most important man in Congress? Didn’t they care that this dampness was bad for his cough?
More importantly, how could he get out, and would the plan go on as scheduled?
Jonathan had taken cover in the hedge of boxwoods next to the house during the commotion. He clawed his way out, getting some nasty scratches in the process. He felt foolish to think he’d even entertained the thought that those spindly branches could protect him from a direct hit. He’d known better, of course, but any port in a storm, as they say. A split second later, his foolishness forgotten, the blistering fear for Tanner’s safety returned.
Just before he heard the roar of a freight train and dived for the bushes, Jonathan thought he saw his father-in-law grab his son and run into the blackness beyond the backyard. His first thought was relief; Hugh would keep him safe.
Then gunshots split the air and he had a brand-new worry to gnaw at his guts.
What on earth was that?
Tanner complained I’d squashed him the first time around; this time he was imprinted, face-first, into the ground beneath me. Poor little guy. He’d smell grass and mud for months. I heard a low groaning from a few feet away. “Everybody okay over there?” I whispered as loudly as I dared under the circumstances.
“Yeah,” Mack said, but I could tell he didn’t mean it. “Keep your head down and shut up. Back-up’s on the way.”
No problem there. Who was shooting at us? Obviously, the president was the target, but who was his attacker? I couldn’t imagine anyone slipping past his agents stationed around the perimeter. That left someone on the inside. Sadie? Good grief, what’s gotten into me? Even in her worst moments, Sadie wouldn’t dream of shooting the president. Lambasting him verbally, sure. Humiliating him, without a doubt. Physically harming him? Never. I was ashamed her name even popped into my head. Let’s face it. Sadie’s a weird one, but assassination attempts? Unequivocally no. Besides, as far as I knew, she was still unconscious.
I knew none of the residents of Road’s End would ever stoop so l
ow. That left our guests—my parents—yeah, right—Irene Austin—good grief, no—Gilbert Austin—capable of it, but too much of a chicken—or one of the agents. Couldn’t be Mack. He was with us and apparently hit by that first shot. Lord, be with him—and us. Please, Lord. Unless they came in from their perimeter posts, which was entirely possible, I supposed, I could eliminate the agents out there. So, who did that leave?
Newbie agent Artie Sandborn and cranky Old Eagle Eye Reynolds, that’s who. My money was on Reynolds.
I could see some movement to my right. Mack raised his head slightly and another bullet blazed by, thudding into the oak tree behind us. Darn it. I already have bullet holes all over the place. Mack ducked and continued smothering the president beneath him. Whoever it was had to be close enough to see Mack moving, even in the dark. Night vision? Gee, Hugh, you’re starting to think like a commando. I tried to remember when I last saw either of the agents. Then it hit me. Reynolds had been the one to catch Tanner. Reynolds was out here with us. It had to be him.
He cursed. He was wet, bruised, dirty, and getting desperate. Things weren’t going as smoothly as he’d have liked. At first, the storm acted in his favor, and having that brat run out into the middle of it fit right into his plans. But even that storm, wild and hairy as it was, seemed to be over now and the kid was with his grandfather, so using him as a hostage was no longer an option. But he was an agent, trained and skilled, and he could anticipate what MacElroy would do under the circumstances. He’d lost contact with his partner, but that couldn’t be helped. No matter. He could do the job without him. Royal pain in the neck anyway.
Faux Pas (A Road's End Mishap Book 2) Page 26